Just as the morning sun rises, I sit by the window before brewing coffee. Air not yet warm, dew gathered on the glass, and a sky without a speck of dust. There's a speed that exists only at this hour. Slowly, but precisely, the day is beginning. Most of the things I love are like this. Quiet moments that might look like nothing to anyone else, small temperatures that would soon vanish if I didn't record them. Listening to the coffee drip, today too I live leaning on such things. On days I spend the morning like this, a cozy light stays in one corner of my heart until the day is done. Is it only me?
A dawn when the streetlight outside hadn't gone out yet, a cat sat in the empty alley. After I set out some water and came back, only cool air remained in its place.